All Magic Comes With A Price
by Unidentified Pineapples
Summary: Gretel makes a deal with Rumplestiltskin to save her brother, but as she will learn, all magic comes with a price. And what does Greta know about Mr. Gold that the other residents of Storybrooke do not?
1. All Magic Comes With A Price

**Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time or any fairytale characters.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: All Magic Comes With A Price<strong>

200 paces past the fence of breadsticks. Leap across the creek and run another 70 steps. Duck beneath the fallen oak, and carefully scramble down the two-horse-high ridge. 150 paces to the left and crawl through the prickly bracken. Once the dense bracken clears in 30 paces, the valley begins. From there, who knew what awaited. Possibly hope, possibly death. Either one was better than what waited back at the cottage of bread and cake.

Gretel sighed as she stared out at the vast valley. If only she could free Hansel from that basement. If only they could escape from the deranged witch. If only they could make it here, then maybe they would be safe. It had taken Gretel a fortnight to discover the route to the valley, sneaking back to the cottage every night just before day break. Sleep evaded her, food was denied her and escape without her brother was not an option. If only, if only, if only.

Gretel closed her eyes and felt the early morning dew descend lightly on her skin. The sun would be rising soon. The witch would awaken. Gretel needed to be back before that happened.

Blinking open her eyes once more, Gretel turned on the spot, prepared to make the familiar journey back…

And came face to face with a wicked grin.

"Enjoying the view, dearie?" he said sweetly, a gleam in the stranger's large, murky eyes.

Her first reaction was to jump in fear. She had been quite certain no one but she knew of this path. Her second notion was that of unmatched relief.

"Sir, good sir, please, you must help me," she begged. "My brother has been captured by an evil witch who lives in the cottage made of bread. She plans to eat him when he has grown fat enough and then eat me as well. All I want is to free my brother and return us home. Please, you must help us."

As Gretel pleaded with the odd-looking stranger, tears cascaded down her dirt-splotched cheeks, leaving streaks of clean flesh in their wake. The stranger's countenance took on that of pity. But the gleam in his eyes remained.

"Ah, dearie, I'm afraid you've asked for the one thing I cannot help you with," he said. "You see, the woman who owns that lovely house doesn't quite _appreciate_ the way I conduct business matters, and I've been forbidden from interfering with her life any further."

Gretel's insides constricted. Good fortune had befallen her in her hour of need only to be snatched away. As her grim fate was realized, another wave of hot tears fell from her eyes. Gretel made to wipe them away, but the stranger caught up her hand.

"Fear not, dearie, for I've another proposition for you." Gretel lifted her gaze to meet his and saw that the gleam there lingered. "You are surely half-starved, for the witch feeds you bones, and you sleep not while you devise a means of escape. By the pace at which you are going, you yourself will be dead within a week's time." As the stranger spoke these truths (the knowledge of which she could guess not how he knew), she could feel the pangs in her stomach deepen and the sleep that tugged at her lids gain a new strength.

"What then do you propose?" she asked ravenously.

"This," he said, the wicked grin returning. "I cannot free your brother from the witch, but I _will_ stay your hunger and subdue your weariness."

Gretel's eyes narrowed in skepticism. There was something strange about this man. Something _off_.

"How?"

"Why, with this of course." With a flourish of his hand there appeared within it as if from nowhere a crystal stick.

Gretel gasped.

"A magic wand?"

"Indeed," the stranger said. "With one wave of this, you will no longer feel hunger or the desire for sleep. You will be strong again and think only of how to free your brother."

Gretel's eyes sparkled. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," he confirmed, and with one smooth, deliberate motion, the odd stranger released Gretel's hand and brushed a stray tear from her cheek, lingering longer there than was necessary. Gretel suppressed a shudder; the man's hands were unnaturally cold.

"But I must warn you, dearie," he said silkily, his thumb running slowly across her cheek, "all magic comes with a price." He whispered the last six words, his warm breath on her face. Gretel listened, transfixed by his voice. "If I help you, you must do something for me in return."

After a moment's pause in which the stranger withdrew his hand from her cheek, Gretel looked him straight in his gleaming eyes. "Such as?"

Just like that, the man's grin broke into a wide smile. Gretel knew she should have felt afraid, but the image of her brother locked away in that dark, dank basement drove the fear away. Whatever the man wanted, he could have it.

"If I should ever call upon you to do something for me – a task, a favor – you must oblige. No questions asked."

She didn't need to think it over. She knew the answer. "I accept."

"Ooh, goodie!" the stranger cried in a child-like tone, clapping his hands together and doing a sort of half-jump in joy. "I'm so glad to hear it, dearie. Now, if you be so kind as to sign on the dotted line…" With another flourish of his hand a long piece of parchment and quill appeared. He handed them both over with an exaggerated bow and only regained his posture once her signature had been secured and the items returned. With another flourish, the parchment and quill vanished, and the stranger stood before Gretel, flashing his most wicked, mirth-filled grin yet. "Thank you kindly, dearie."

Gretel squirmed under his hot gaze, and the hairs on her neck stood on end. The sun would be rising soon. She had to return quickly.

After another uncomfortable moment, the stranger held up the magic wand and declared in a cackley voice, "And now for the finishing touches." With a dazzling wave, a mist of blue magic settled on Gretel, and instantly the pangs in her stomach ceased and her lids no longer drooped. She felt as if she could run the entire length of the valley below without stopping for breath. She took a moment to collect herself.

"Thank you, good sir. You have surely saved my brother and I from otherwise certain death."

The odd, little man bowed his head. "You are most welcome, dearie. Now off with you. Dawn is approaching."

Gretel nodded and dashed off back along the path.

"Oh, and dearie?" the man called, bringing her to a halt. "Do not forget our little bargain."

The girl nodded once more, then sprinted toward the cottage.

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><p><em>Order up<em>, Greta thought as she brought the Sheriff's scrambled eggs up to the pass and tapped the silver bell. Ruby, as always, took her sweet time answering the summons, making sure to walk slowly enough to accentuate her slender hips. After all, the Sheriff was watching. Once Graham had received his eggs and gave Greta his usual head tip in thanks for preparing his breakfast just the way he liked it, Greta returned her focus to the griddle and continued manning Dr. Hopper's hash browns, ignoring Ruby's not-so-subtle attempts to get into the Sheriff's pants.

After having worked at Granny's Diner for the better part of four years, Greta knew the typical order of most every person in Storybrooke. No one here, it seemed, liked change much. Same old food, same old people, same old lives.

_Order up_, Greta thought, tapping the bell once more and sending the hash browns up to the pass. As Ruby retrieved the dish she handed Greta another ticket.

"French toast, short stack," the waitress said.

Greta looked up, confused, and scanned the dining room through the little window. It was 1 o'clock. Henry should be at school, not the diner. But Greta could not find the boy anywhere.

"New girl," Ruby explained, cocking her head over her shoulder to a blonde lady seated at the counter reading that morning's edition of _The Mirror_. Greta pegged her in her late 20s, possibly 30.

Greta raised an eyebrow in question. _Who is she?_

Ruby responded with a shrug of her shoulders before leaving to deliver Dr. Hopper's hash browns.

Odd. Storybrooke, in its determination of sameness, never received visitors. Especially ones who looked as though they had much better things they could be doing. Who was she? How did she come to be here? Strange indeed.

Greta prepared the French toast and sent it up to the pass, eyeing the woman curiously. A shrill _ding!_ cut through the room as she tapped the bell to inform Ruby the order was ready. As usual, the red-lipsticked waitress took her sweet time, shifting her hips more than ever. The Sheriff, after all, was still there.

Greta rolled her eyes. Ruby had a reputation for sleeping with anything that moved. She'd even been known to flirt with Dr. Hopper on occasion (when he was the only male presence in the diner, that is). But regardless of her life choices, Ruby was a steadfast friend who didn't judge and was always willing to take the time to understand. As far as friends went, Ruby was the closest Greta had.

"Special task for you, Greta," Ruby said, taking the stack of French toast. "Mr. Gold says he wants you to make him a desert of your choice. Something unique."

Ruby gave Greta a look that plainly said if she was in Greta's shoes, she'd be less than thrilled to make something special for the creep. Mr. Gold was the one man in town Ruby would not flirt with.

Greta, on the other hand, cocked a smile and set to work, leaving Ruby to deliver the meal and chat up the new girl. For as long as she'd been working at Granny's, Greta always found an unrivaled bliss when making deserts, sweets and goodies. She never ate the creations herself, but something about being around them sort of called to her. And Mr. Gold was, after all, the reason she had the job at Granny's. Thanking him with a sweet wasn't, as Ruby thought, the worst thing in the world.

It took her a few minutes to decide what she would make and another 15 minutes to carry out the task, but in the end she was blissfully pleased with her work as she sent the plated gingerbread man up to the pass.

Mr. Gold graciously accepted the still-warm dessert from Ruby (whose hips seemed to have suddenly lost their seductive shift) and flashed Greta a crooked smile, revealing three gold teeth.

A chill ran up Greta's spine. The kind of eerie chill only Mr. Gold could inflict.

Greta looked away and pretended to fiddle with something in the kitchen. Just because she was grateful he had gotten her this job did not mean she had to like Mr. Gold. Not many people did.

And from what Greta knew, they had every reason not to.

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><p><strong>A.N. This is my first shot at a Once Upon A Time fic. RumplestiltskinMr. Gold is my favorite character by far on the show, and I thought it would be fun to explore how Hansel and Gretel play into the lives of everyone in Storybrooke. So this is my attempt to explain their story. I hope you enjoy it.**


	2. All Prices Must Be Paid

**Chapter 2: All Prices Must Be Paid**

It was from her meeting with the odd man in the forest that Gretel conceived the idea for how she would help Hansel. Every day the witch forced Gretel to pass food to Hansel through a slot in the heavy wooden door that prevented him from escaping the basement. And every day, after Hansel had eaten, the witch forced him to stick his finger through the slot so she could feel if he was fattening up. Gretel was given nothing to eat but dried bones and water, and although she had more freedom than Hansel (for the witch knew Gretel would not leave the cottage without her brother), living off of nothing to eat was wearing her thin, sapping all of her energy until she felt she could continue on in this manner no more. Having her brother taken from her and fed to a deranged witch was one thing, but being forced to watch while she herself was mere skin and bones was too much to take.

That was why meeting the stranger in the forest during her hour of need had been a true blessing. His spell had given her the strength and renewed vigor she'd needed to devise a means of escape for both herself and Hansel.

But what a curious man the stranger had been. How had he known such things of how Gretel was being treated by the witch? How could he know she only received bones as meals?

And that was where the inspiration struck. _Bones_. She would use the bones to save Hansel. Bones, after all, had no meat or fat on them. And the basement provided no light, making it difficult at best to see. Was it possible the witch could be fooled into thinking a chicken bone was Hansel's finger? If she perceived him to be unfat, she would surely delay her plans to cook and eat him. It was another blessing from the stranger.

For the next fortnight, Gretel and Hansel carried out the plan. Every evening the witch demanded Hansel present her his finger so she could assess his plumpness, and every evening Hansel stuck a chicken bone through the slot. The siblings were proud of the work they'd done when they saw how stumped and frustrated the witch was at Hansel's refusal to fatten up.

Their excitement, however, was short-lived, for as the fortnight drew to a close, the witch expressed her impatience of having to wait so long for a decent meal. In the end, she made the decision to eat Hansel anyway, fat or no fat.

And that was when Gretel panicked.

How could she be expected to save Hansel now? Their plan had been of a kind that seemed flawless, but it had all been for nothing. Now Hansel would be eaten, and Gretel would surely be next.

What was worse, the witch would force Gretel to prepare the meal; killing and cooking her own beloved brother while the witch watched in satisfaction. It was a torture beyond any a person could exert upon their enemy. And what had the siblings done wrong besides take a few bites from the house made of cake and bread when they had been lost and starving in the forest? Was their innocent crime so heinous as to warrant this punishment?

But no matter how much Gretel begged, the witch refused to acknowledge her. The deed would be carried out as planned.

When the day of the feast (as the witch so lovingly referred to it) came, Gretel was beside herself with grief, crying all morning and afternoon as she gathered, chopped and prepared the vegetables and set the table for dinner. The witch, on the other hand, chortled with glee (it had been quite some time since she'd had a meal).

Finally, the moment that Gretel had been dreading above all else had arrived.

"Everything else is in place," the witch cackled. "Now you've only to prepare the main course. Go fetch your brother."

Gretel flinched at the words, but descended the dark staircase to the prison where Hansel was kept. What she heard echoing off the stone walls made her heart constrict. Hansel was sobbing.

"Gretel, please," he pleaded between gasps. "Please don't."

Gretel's heart broke for her brother, for them as a pair. What misfortune had befallen them that day in the forest when they first set eyes on the wretched cottage. It was a nightmare come true.

"It's time to go, Hansel," Gretel said, although the voice did not sound like hers. It was empty, hallow, dead. The witch had finally succeeded in crushing every morsel of hope from her being.

"No, please, not yet," Hansel continued to plead. "Just a little longer. Please. I'm not ready yet."

It hurt Gretel to hear the desperation in her brother's voice more than anything else. It was too much to bear. Turning away from the heavy, wooden door, Gretel wearily trudged back upstairs, determined to give Hansel a bit more time (for whatever good it would do).

"Where is the boy?" the witch demanded to know when Gretel had reentered the kitchen alone.

"I remembered I'd forgotten to turn on the oven," Gretel thought quickly. "If I don't start it now then it won't be hot enough when the time comes to cook… the meal."

The witch nodded and sat back in the kitchen chair, watching the girl's every move. Gretel no longer cared what the witch thought or did. She no longer cared if the hag got angry or threatened to eat her as well. She would no longer be part of this. Seeing her brother reduced to tears had changed something in Gretel; awakened some part of her that wanted to see the witch suffer.

As Gretel approached the over, an idea came to her. Perhaps it was born from an unpredicted moment of clarity or perhaps it came from her newly fueled desire to see the witch in pain. Regardless of its origins, there was little that could stop the girl from saying, "I don't know how to start the oven," in a voice of feigned innocence.

The witch released a sigh of unrestrained annoyance. "You must crawl in and light it by hand, simple girl."

"But I do not know my way around the oven," Gretel replied immediately, working hard to maintain her innocent tone. "If I should light the wrong thing, the kitchen may very well catch fire, and it would be a shame to see this cottage burn down."

The witch was on her feet in an instant. She strode over to Gretel, snatched a match from her hand and climbed into the oven. "I will not have you threaten the well-being of my beautiful house," she snapped. "I'll do it myself."

As the witch climbed in, Gretel allowed herself a moment to smile in triumph before slamming the oven door shut and locking it. "And I will not have you threaten the well-being of my brother!"

It was a feeling of victory, of knowing they'd won, of realizing they were finally free from the evil witch at last.

Dashing to the witch's bedroom, Gretel retrieved a heavy iron key from where it hung on a hook beside the bed. In the next instant she had flown down the basement steps and freed Hansel from his dark prison, embracing him for the first time in weeks.

"It's over Hansel," she chided. "We're safe."

Because Hansel had lived without light for so long, his eyes preferred the dark to the sun's harsh rays. Gretel, therefore, had to guide him while he kept his eyes shut against the light of day.

As they fled the cottage of bread and cake (following the path Gretel had discovered weeks ago), both siblings could hear the anguished cries of the witch behind them as she burned alive. Neither Hansel nor Gretel was sorry.

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><p>"Hey, Greta, can you come downstairs for a sec?" came Ruby's voice through the door.<p>

Greta didn't move from where she lay, stomach-down, atop the quilted bed. She'd been in the middle of such an intriguing dream. At least, she thought it had been intriguing. Now she couldn't remember; although, she was left with the distinct feeling that she had been running from something.

Burying her face in the crook of her arm, Greta let out a sigh. Ruby knew she'd be down momentarily; she always was. Just five more minutes of napping, Greta thought. That's all I need.

"Mr. Gold is here," Ruby said when it was clear Greta wasn't coming to the door. She didn't sound happy. "He says he wants to speak with you."

Immediately Greta's eyes snapped open, and she felt her stomach churn, forming knots behind her bellybutton. Ruby's footsteps retreated away from the door and down the stairs. It was common knowledge that no one kept Mr. Gold waiting. _What does he want?_ Greta wondered, rising from the bed.

She joined Ruby in the lobby of Granny's Bed and Breakfast moments later. Standing by the door, leaning patiently on his cane, was Mr. Gold. The waitress eyed him with distrust.

"Ah, there she is," Mr. Gold greeted warmly as Greta entered the room. He smiled in his controlled, polite way, revealing a gold tooth. "Just the person I wanted to see. How have you been, Greta?"

Greta glanced at Ruby for a second. Her friend had never trusted Mr. Gold, no matter how many times he'd made an appearance at the diner, no matter how many politely formal conversations they'd had, she always thought the man was full of it. For the most part, Greta agreed. There did seem to be something not quite right about the man who owned Storybrooke. Something _off_. She couldn't believe he was merely a pawnbroker who lived nothing but a quiet life.

But unlike Ruby, there was a part of Greta that sympathized with Mr. Gold. She didn't know what part of her that was or even _what_ she sympathized with, but she knew it was the difference between rolling her eyes at the creep and making a gingerbread man to order when he requested it.

Pulling her eyes away from the look of suspicion on Ruby's face, Greta tilted her head slightly and nodded. _Can't complain_.

"That's good to hear," he replied. "And work at the diner?"

"Is going well," Ruby interjected. Greta shot her friend a look. It was never a good idea to cross Mr. Gold, even in conversation. "Greta's the best cook we have. Everyone loves her there."

Ruby took a step toward Greta and wrapped an arm around her shoulder protectively, glaring at Mr. Gold. Greta looked down sheepishly, wishing her friend wasn't so hard-headed sometimes.

Mr. Gold eyed Ruby for a moment, the gears in his mind turning. She was a determined girl who spoke her mind more frequently than most in Storybrooke and stood her ground when the things she most loved were threatened. She was a challenging adversary to be sure.

"I'm sure they do," the pawnbroker said at length, never once dropping his air of casualty. "It seems I found you a perfect fit at Granny's, Greta, from what Ruby says. Oh, and thank you for the gingerbread cookie the other day. I quite enjoyed it."

Greta nodded her head once more, this time allowing a smile. _Thank you_. The grip Ruby had on Greta's shoulder tightened. She clearly did not approve of her friend's general kindness toward the creep.

"Um, Ruby, if you would be so kind, I would very much like to speak to Greta alone for a few minutes." It was posed as a request, but the girls could feel the force behind those words. He was a powerful man, Mr. Gold.

The waitress ignored the request and instead looked to Greta for an answer. She merely nodded her head again, and Ruby dropped her arm from around Greta's shoulders. She trusted her friend's judgment.

Mr. Gold's cheeks pulled back to form a gracious smile, but he was met with a distrustful stare from Ruby in return. Before exiting the room she turned to Greta and said, "I'll be cleaning the Sheriff's room if you need me."

Mr. Gold waited until the door had shut completely behind Ruby before speaking.

"I'm sorry to have had to excuse your friend, but it was you I came to speak with, Greta."

Greta raised her eyebrows ever so slightly, indicating Mr. Gold to continue. He tapped his cane upon the ground once and began to pace the room in a steady and controlled manner. It set Greta on edge. Even his limp seemed to be in check.

"It is not uncommon knowledge that I have a different relationship with each and every person in this town," he began. "Some are beneficial, some are casual, some are rather insightful. But each one is unique in its own way." He paused here and stared at the cook. "Four years ago, Greta, you and I made a deal, and today I've come to collect payment.

She felt her insides constrict immediately, although she did not know why. His tone was as light and casual as ever. There was no hint of a threat or dark undertone in his voice that Greta could detect. It was no different than if Ruby had asked her to stay a few minutes after hours at the diner to help her clean the dining room. So why was she suddenly feeling tense?

Did it have something to do with that gleam in his eyes that she was sure hadn't been there before Ruby left?

Greta raised her eyebrows again, expressing interest.

"The other day at the diner," Mr. Gold continued, "I'm sure you noticed a new face. Her name is Miss Emma Swan. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, she recently checked into a room here."

Greta nodded, recalling the moment when Granny had told her the Inn would be accommodating a new guest for a few days. A Miss Emma Swan.

Mr. Gold continued. "As someone who is familiar with almost as many people in Storybrooke as myself, you don't need telling that our town doesn't receive very many visitors. Especially ones with ties to our residents."

Greta furrowed her brows. _What are you talking about?_

"Hasn't anyone told you?" he inquired, although it was clear by his tone that he'd hoped to be the one to deliver the news himself. "Miss Swan is little Henry's biological mother."

She had to do all she could not to allow her mouth to drop open. When Mr. Gold had said Emma Swan had ties to the town's residents, she'd thought he'd meant distantly. But being Henry's birth mother? That practically made her a resident herself. That was a big deal for a little town like Storybrooke. It wouldn't be long until everyone knew about Miss Swan.

She forced herself to keep her features even, to not give too much of a reaction. No amount of information, no matter how small, was worthless to Mr. Gold.

"As you can imagine, he continued, brushing an orderly strand of hair behind his ear, "Regina is up in arms. No mother, whether biological or adopted, wants to feel that their child's well-being is threatened. Much like I don't want to feel that the well-being of my town's residents is threatened."

Greta nodded understandingly, yet remained guarded. What did any of this have to do with her?

"Miss Swan's presence in Storybrooke will undoubtedly, I fear, cause unrest; at the very least between herself and Regina." By this point, he was shaking his head and staring off at the floor, seemingly lost in a thoughtful dilemma. "This is not something I would ordinarily get myself involved in, but as it does concern the mayor, I feel it would be in everyone's best interest if I had a decent handle on the situation. Obviously Regina will have a difficult time looking at Miss Swan's presence objectively, which may have some negative effects on the town. No one wants a mayor who is too preoccupied with home life to properly tend to the town's needs."

Again, Greta nodded. Mr. Gold seemed relieved.

"You see where I am coming from, then. That's wonderful to hear, because the next part involves you." He took a step closer to her, coming to a halt well within her ring of personal space. He spoke so softly that, had the room been occupied by more than just Greta and Mr. Gold, only Greta would have heard his words. "I can't be as omnipresent in the town as I would like. I have a shop to run and other affairs that need attending to. But you, Greta, know just about everyone in this town and what their daily lives entail. It's as if you were custom made for this job."

Greta raised her eyebrows suspiciously. _What job?_

"Well, you see now, this would be where that favor comes in. I need a better handle on this Emma Swan situation. I need to know who she is and why she's here, if her stay is only temporary or if she plans to stay. As it is, you are in the ideal position to learn all about our new guest. She is, after all, staying in the room right across the hall from your own, is she not?"

Greta nodded, thoughtful. So this was the favor, the price she had to pay for Mr. Gold's help four years ago. Learn what she could of Emma Swan and report back. That wasn't so bad, she thought, as a smile formed on her lips.

"So you'll help me then?" Mr. Gold asked, reading the meaning behind the grin. But it wasn't a question or even a request. It was an order. After all, a deal was a deal.

For the final time, Greta nodded.

Mr. Gold looked down for a moment and sighed. When he looked back to the girl, he addressed her with a hint of authority. "This is one of those times where I'm going to need you to speak, Greta. Not around others, but when it's just the two of us, your voice will be appreciated. I can't guess all the information you'll have to tell me. If I could do that, well, there would be no need for your services now would there?"

She made to shake her head but stopped herself immediately. After a moment she forced out a raspy, "No, Mr. Gold. Of course I'll help you." Greta never spoke. Never.

Except when Mr. Gold asked her to.

The pawnbroker smiled, his gold tooth gleaming, much like his eyes. A wicked gleam.

"Thank you very much, Greta," he said, turning to leave. His limp was barely noticeable now. For a moment, without the rhythmic hobble, he reminded her of an impish man. But in the next moment the image was gone, and he was once again crippled Mr. Gold. When he reached the door, he paused and turned to Greta one final time, saying, "I'll be by again soon to check in regarding our new guest." And with that, he exited the Inn and was gone.


End file.
